Oh, Brother
by S. Faith
Summary: Boys will be boys; these boys are very much their fathers' sons.


**Oh, Brother**

By S. Faith, © 2013

Words: 879  
Rating: K+ / PG  
Summary: Boys will be boys; these boys are very much their fathers' sons.  
Disclaimer: Still not mine.  
Notes: I guess this was my idea…? But it was iwasmadetolove who really wanted to see it :)

* * *

She never interferes unless absolutely necessary; instead, she prefers to listen to their conversations. She usually has to fight hard not to laugh.

"It's my turn," says the younger of the two, at the grand age of four and a half. "You've had it long enough."

"No way," the elder retorts, aged six. "It's mine."

"We're supposed to share," says the younger. So serious and fair-minded.

"I told you it's mine and I'm not done with it."

She steals a glance over to the pair; the younger, with his dark hair and dark eyes, stands there trying to hold back tears, fists clenched in impotent anger. Meanwhile, the elder (and though elder, they're nearly the same height) holds on to his prize even as his pale blue eyes are fixed elsewhere.

Their little show's apparently over, so she looks back to what she's doing: making them something to eat. Usually the way these things end is that one clinging to it will put it down, the other who wanted it will pick it up, and everything's forgotten. Or they'll play with the object together.

Not today, though.

A cry pierces the air, and as she turns to face them she gasps as she sees the younger sitting on the stomach of the elder, pummelling him on the chest with rapid-fire fists. Secretly she's glad to see him stand up for himself, though she can't condone violence.

"Mark Edward!" she says sharply, rushing towards them. "Get off of your brother this instant. Brian Daniel! What have I told you about antagonising him?"

"He's not my brother!" cries the younger, Mark, in his frustration as she peels him from Brian, then stands him on his feet. His features, so like his father's, are set with determination. She crouches beside him and pulls his arms away from where he's crossed them over his own chest, then gives him a hug, which he returns with fierceness.

"He is," she says tenderly, "so stop it."

Mark Edward sniffles. She draws back to look at him. "I only wanted to play with Thomas the Tank Engine."

"I know." She kisses his cheek then turns to the other boy, rising to her feet then going to him to make sure he's okay, but since he's already standing she figures all is well. She looks him over anyway, smoothes down his dusky blond hair, then gives him a hug, too. "Why must you be that way?" she asks gently. "You're not even playing with it."

"He only wants it because I have it."

"Yes, because you're his older brother, and he looks up to you."

"He's not my—"

"Both of you are my sons," she scolds, "which makes you brothers whether you like it or not. Stop this nonsense." She turns to the younger boy as she says this, beckons him with an outstretched hand. "Come here. You're going to make up."

"I don't want to," the younger one announces stubbornly.

Despite everything, she wants to laugh; they are so like their respective fathers that she can't help it. "You will whether you want to or not." She looks from one to the other. "He is the only brother you'll ever have," she says, "and the same goes for you."

"You _could_ have more kids, Mum," says Brian Daniel.

She chuckles. "Not likely," she says. "Now I love you both, and I want you to show me you love each other."

They regard each other warily.

"It'll make me the happiest mum in all the world," she says, then offers a slightly exaggerated frown. "It makes me sad when you don't get along."

They then both regard her. One thing is certain: they hate making their mum sad. So the elder takes the lead and gives his younger brother a big hug.

"That's my boy," she says, patting their backs, then says it again to the other: "And that's my boy, too." She gets up to her feet, feeling a bit creaky as she does. "Now, why don't you go on and play something together. Maybe with cars or action figures or a game…"

At that moment, the front door opens, and both boys forget their argument in order to greet the man who has just arrived home. She smiles then follows them, and arrives to see her husband, crouched down with one arm around each excited boy. Only one of them is biologically his son, but he loves them both unconditionally. She remembers his words to her once: They each are partly _you_, so how can I _not_ love them just the same?

He looks up to see her taking in the scene and offers a grin before faking that they're hugging too tight and making exaggerated choking sounds. They both laugh and let go as he rises to his full height. The boys scamper off and from the sound of it, have found cartoons to watch on the telly.

"How's it been today?" he asks, folding her in his arms.

"The usual," she says softly. "Keeping the two of them from punching up one another… sort of like their fathers."

At this he bursts out with a little laugh. "You're so good at it."

"And just think," she says, "they are all yours tomorrow."

_The end._


End file.
